"timestamps" poems
I always find myself running back to this,
desperately holding onto the little piece of me
that can survive alone
that can create.
I wonder if you ever mean this torture.
As if seeing me fret is fine-
put me on silent and out of sight.
For me, every time my screen lights up
my sheets buzz,
I frantically look for you.
but it's just a message from someone else,
a 7 AM alarm that wasn't necessary,
a low battery alert.
I know you are busy, and that I'm being annoying
like you say I am. (It hurts me a lot when you say that.)
But last night we didn't lay together-
and last night I didn't sleep.
You told me you couldn't either-
but for me it was really true.
You can see the timestamps.
And I just want an answer.
I hate feeling so needy.
I hate this reduction.
I've grown so obsessive.
I know I can't force love-
but I've been trying from the start.
Last night I wanted to save us
from any more damage.
So my legs started out the door.
I couldn't stop messaging you-
you told me not to forget you
but how can I forget the voices in my head?
I keep hearing you everywhere
but reality.
And I keep staring at my phone-
it just lit up with your name.
And so did my brain.
Yet now that I finally got an answer-
it really wasn't what I wanted.
A calculated mine field of two short sentences.
So I put you away-
but never silent and never out of sight
and I'm sure you never fret
or frantically look for me
but that's okay-
because I can still create something
a text
that will always respond
and never let me feel ignored
and always be mine.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
Piecing together a story with timestamps
from letters you published, and
clues raining down like hammers,
(which is to say, at first dangerous, and then
amnesia-inducing, leaving me certain
I was delirious all along)
you asked me “what kind of person are you?”
and I hesitantly shrugged,
“whatever kind you need me to be, if only
I can.” If only
I can.
I can be a mirror,
a reflection,
a deflection,
a misdirection,
an inter-introspection
asking only what has already
been asked before, rapid-fire
and firing faster, until it shatters
like
“what kind of person are you?”
and
“what do you see when you look at me?”
and
"how can you see what's looking at you,
if you didn't first know to look to see?”
and
"what if we run out of things to say
or questions to ask?”
and
“how many bites does it take
to get to the centre of a person?”
and
"if I promise there's no venom in my fangs
could I bite into you?”
and
I wonder what you taste like.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Friends are the best
when they stay
But friends have
timestamps
on them.
Imprinted in fine
ink.
Their love
is like watches.
Always
ticking.
Always somewhere.
Moving, chasing.
And lovers are the best
when close to your heart.
Oh, dear.
You pull them
so
close.
You can’t even breathe.
Their strangles
are lovely,
but they always hurt once their hands
let go.
And now your heart
stops
beating.
In life thus far, I’ve come to see
people.
People are strangers.
People are dying.
People exist.
People make love and
break each other.
Yes, just like that.
Carve it up
properly.
And I’m the best
alone.
5.07.14
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
(6/21 at 10:36 AM)
this is where it started, you went full blast, with
[ssfydbso]
(6/24 at 8:12 PM)
cute words and flattery that made me laugh;
[mfsivv]
(7/3 at 1:11 PM)
the nicknames, if you could call them that, in the very least
[vks/sks]
(7/3 at 1:29 PM)
the way we matched
[sks/vks]
(7/6 at 10:13)
the unapologetic delivery
[v#1s/fc]
(8/19 at 12:52 AM)
although before i'd been skeptical, i soon fell into a habit of you, and when i confronted you, oops, little did i learn, how you felt, yet i still extrapolated
[ysaah]
(9/6 at 10:57? PM)
as you shared your music, you showed me new songs and i think i saved them all.
[DBL you said @1am but if i'm honest, i think you were projecting how you felt onto someone else, but maybe i know a thing or two about that]
(10/23 at 6:49 PM)
then things got out of hand, so to speak (wink, wink)
[hbbg]
(11/13 at 11:00 AM)
and i thought it would be a one-time thing, and it was, more or less, until the moment you texted, telling me i had invaded your dreams
[wtbalos? (edited)/(redacted)]
(11/15 at ??:?? AM?)
but when i reached out, in the dead of night, maybe you thought it had underlying meaning, when really, i was lonely and wanted to talk to someone, but that someone was mainly you, or the version of you i concocted in my mind.
[twtnajgd]
(11/24 at 10:53 AM)
and after months of reading into nonexistent nuances, and constructing a cacophony of daydreams involving you,
when i threw my phone out, like three days later - well, i did say three was my favorite number -
i reached out, for i wanted answers, and clarity and closure, and i guess i got it; i finally ******* got it and it drove me to poetry, where i spent the most time in a long time
on you, searching for screenshots for timestamps so this ******* poem is the most accurate it possibly could be, and i even maxed out the discord character limit - just on you, and that's something that i rarely ever do.
[biadttg]
(11/28 at 11:48 PM)
so, my phone is still thrown out, and i get my access back tomorrow, and now i must stick to the reasoning for which i threw it out in the first place, but i still seek out your name and activity on spotify,
(?/? at ??:?? AM&PM)
but i will work to curb that habit and every other one i have associated with you, and one day, they will all be but a distant memory
Nov 29, 2020
Nov 29, 2020 at 10:11 PM UTC
1:12 PM, 21 March 2000 PST
-
11:08 PM, 17 July 2016 PST
My life thus far is not
Defined by my timestamps
I am the negative and positive space
That fills the void between my numbers
Some people are "numbers guys"
I, myself, am a "a-let's-see-what-the-hell-is-in-store-next girl"
So **** the timestamp
11:11 PM. 17 July 2016 PST
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
Here between keystrokes,
I exist as thoughts
immersed,
with no face to trace,
no voice to echo,
just words scattered
in poetic verse.
I am me in data,
timestamps
and IP trails,
I am the ghost
inside the machine,
The blank space
and filler of forms.
How strange
it is to be someone
and no one at all,
to be a thousand
possible lives
behind a secretive wall.
This is where freedom
tastes like deletion,
like footprints
washed away by rain,
in this vast binary ocean,
I am both infinite
and contained.
Perhaps,
I am most real
when I am least known,
as a mysterious presence
in a world
of ones and zeros.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 1:42 AM UTC
a flavor lost in water
frustration dissolving into apathy
does it even matter any more.
a comedy of pain
would you like to see the discrepancy in timestamps
or is it enough to say im ready
and would you understand
when i tell you with joy
i no longer love you
or would that contradict these citrus-scented apple slices
touched only by two hands
and the burning of acidic salt beneath my eyes
as if i ever stood a chance
Apr 29, 2024
Apr 29, 2024 at 11:27 AM UTC
he doesnt seem to get it
how every letter cuts too deep
the timestamps tell the story
his heart is on his sleeve
he reaches out in isolation
he fears one day i'll leave
while all the while it is he
pulling further away from me
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 12:16 AM UTC